To Behave in the Most Gentlemanlike Manner
by In this Kingdom by the Sea
Summary: Young Darcy meets a beguiling nymph on his lands and feels an instant connection. When he accompanies his friend to Netherfield, he encounters her again. But does the grown lady live up to his mind's idealized memory of the precocious womanchild? All is not as it seems in Hertfortshire, and our hero must battle both his own prejudices and the conspiracies of others to find his HEA.
1. Chapter 1

She knelt gracefully, her hand outstretched. She held her hand perfectly still as the small squirrel pecked at it gingerly. He was mesmerized by the sight, wondering how this slip of a girl could have a wild animal eat so readily out of her hand. He formed some faint half-thought that, were it up to him, he would be just as eager to eat out of her hand.

She was small and very slender, with dark curls that had come undone from their careful bun by the afternoon wind. Her fingers were long, like her soft neck. Her back was straight and regal, and her shoulders seemed delicate under the fabric of her modest gown.

He could not make out her face from his current position, and moved quietly, stealthily, so as not to disturb either the girl or her furry guest, to a spot that afforded a better view. Her nose was small and upturned, crinked in the adorable expression of delight she was wearing. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shone brightly with her excitement.

He admired those fine orbs for several moments before allowing his own eyes to continue their study. Her waist was slim, but turned into well-rounded hips below and a noticeable bosom above. He was suddenly hot, and felt his cheeks flushing. She was a young girl, much younger than him, but she was already a woman, as his treacherous body noted at once. Perhaps seventeen years of age?

At three and twenty, Fitzwilliam Darcy had deplorably limited experience with women. Decorated ladies in ballrooms, simpering horsewomen in Hyde Park, friends' sisters eager to demonstrate their accomplishments – his interactions with the fairer sex had always been so contrived, that nothing had prepared him for the incandescent pleasure of seeing a beautiful girl at ease with nature, smiling brilliantly to herself. He was a grown man, and he dreamed, longed, yearned for women, had admired their elegant decolletages in those blasted ballrooms, had allowed his gaze to linger on the heaving bosoms of the simpering horsewomen, had taken pleasure in his friends' sisters' accomplishments on the pianoforte. But he was a gentleman, taught by his father never to raise unwanted expectations in gentlewomen, never to take advantage of girls from the working classes, and never to risk his own health in the types of establishments frequented by his classmates in Cambridge. Spending his years at university and his summers a Pemberley with his father, he was still too young to be lured by the only safe way to experience physical intimacy outside of a marriage: in the arms of a willing widow with whom one has an exclusive relationship.

And so for years, pleasures of the flesh remained something he dreamed of hazily at night and thought on in those dark hours alone in his room with his right hand. But now, confronted with a vision of a young, healthy, beautiful girl with that open and honest expression, with those genuine and unrestricted movements, so flesh and blood, so woman, he could not look away. Who was this mesmerizing creature? Was she a daughter of one the Pemberley tenants? Was she a mythical nymph making her home in his familial woods? To him, she was Gaia, goddess of the earth.

He blushed at the tightening in his breeches, and determined that he had trespassed on her privacy long enough. He turned and was about to make his exit, as unseen as he had arrived. To his mortification, right at that moment, the girl noticed his presence and gasped.

"Sir!" She stood quickly, and smoothed her hands over her skirt, righting herself.

"Forgive me, madam." He bowed formally to her, hoping that she would not notice his quickly subsiding discomfort. "I did not mean to startle you." She was looking at him apprehensively, fear and uncertainly in her lovely dark eyes. He sought to allay her concern. "Fitzwilliam Darcy at your service, madam."

If possible, her expression seemed only to turn more worried, not less. "I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to trespass or inconvenience you. It appears that I have wondered too far from my party, I shall rejoin them at once. Good day, sir." She gave him a deep curtsey.

He did not feel ready to let her walk away, and against his better judgment, called after her. "Miss?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I did not mean to interrupt your outing, please stay."

"Truly, sir, I should not be here all by myself. My aunt and uncle must be worried."

"Are you here on a tour?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then allow me to escort you back to your aunt and uncle. Where did you last see them? I will know the way, I live on this estate."

"I know, sir," she whispered, blushing. "I saw your portrait in the gallery during our tour."

The heightened color of her cheeks made her face appear more youthful and even prettier, and he smiled at her blush, wondering if she found his portrait handsome. He rather liked the thought of her finding him to be pleasing.

"And may I have the honor of knowing your name, madam?"

"Elizabeth Bennet," she murmured demurely, not looking up.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. I see you have enraptured one of my squirrels earlier."

He had sought to put her at ease with his teasing, but it had apparently been a mistake. Her eyes widened comically. "You saw that?"

"Yes, and it was rather impressive. I have never been able to have a wild animal trust me so completely."

"Have you tried?" She looked up at him with a spark of curiosity in her lovely eyes that made her look even younger. He wondered now at his initial assessment. While her slim figure had all the right tantalizing curves, certain movements and expressions struck him as more youthful than those of a seventeen-year-old girl. He sternly reminded himself not to think on her figure, feeling his cheeks heat at the new wave of desire.

It appeared that his thoughts had another negative consequence, as the girl dropped her eyes and once again turned shy at his lack of response. "Forgive me, sir, that was very improper of me to ask. Indeed, I know I have acted improperly today, and I beg your pardon. I should not have wondered alone on your land, nor spoken so freely. My mother often tells me –"

"Please, Miss Bennet, do not be concerned. I have found your actions perfectly proper, only a little refreshing. My, or should I say my father's, lands are always welcome for your rambles, and I would be honored to be permitted to share in your adventures. Perhaps you could teach me how to tame squirrels?"

She laughed, an open, unconstrained, tinkling sound so unlike the artificial giggles he had heard from ladies in the past. It was the most delightful sound, and he yearned to make her laugh again and again.

He offered her his arm, and suggested that they walk to the fishing pond, where he knew the tour to often lead, and where he thought they might find her relations.

Having put the young girl at ease, Darcy marveled at the depth and scope of her conversation. They spoke of books, of plants, of philosophy, and of forest critters. She was well informed, lively, and engaging. She spoke her opinions freely, but did not hold onto them overly firmly. She debated with the enthusiasm of a young and curious soul, eager to listen and learn, a trait that he both wholeheartedly admired and shared.

"You take an interest in great many subjects, Miss Bennet," he complimented her. "I cannot say that I have met many ladies with interests as diverse as yours."

She looked uncomfortable at his praise. "I am sorry, sir. I hope I did not offend you. I know that when I come out in two months, I will have to restrict myself to more ladylike endeavors."

Had he had time to reflect on her words, he would have found the missing piece of the puzzle that would reconcile the seeming contradiction of her animated and outgoing self with her occasional shy reticence. The girl was about to come out, and had been instilled with fear and concern over this transition from child to woman, over having to abandon her girlhood pursuits for the restrictive strictures of ladylike behavior.

But he was too surprised to reflect. He blurted out the first thing that had come to mind. "You are not yet out?"

She shook her head.

Perplexed, he spoke without thinking, regretting the impropriety of his words as soon as they came out. "Pray, how old are you, Miss Bennet?"

"I am not yet sixteen, sir," She replied, blushing.

He was shocked, having assumed her to be seventeen from her looks, and having subsequently grown confident in that assessment after hearing her converse so intelligently on such a wide variety of subjects. He mastered himself enough to push back his surprise and comfort his companion. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, it was highly improper of me to ask. I was merely surprised that one so young has engaged in such extensive reading. I command you."

She smiled at him brightly. "I thank you, sir. I love to read, and my father has always encouraged me to broaden my mind. I think, sometimes, that he has treated me as the son he never had. I do hope that my coming out does not change that overly much."

"I hope so too," he murmured, looking deep into her large brown eyes.

He would always wonder what turn their tete-a-tete would have taken at that point, had they not been interrupted by the rustling of leaves nearby. Turning towards the noise, they saw his cousin, the Viscount Bradville, eldest son of the Earl of Matlock, walking away while righting his clothing. He was soon followed by a young girl whom Darcy knew to be Sally, one of the Pemberley kitchen maids.

Darcy was torn between the feeling of indignation towards his cousin for taking advantage of one of the staff and the wave of embarrassment at having the fifteen-year-old girl beside him witness such a spectacle. He blushed furiously as he turned to face her, wondering how he would assuage her maidenly sensibilities.

As he turned towards her, however, Darcy was surprised to notice that Elizabeth's face was red not with coy embarrassment but with burning rage.

She let out a quiet curse, bawling her lovely long fingers into tight fists. "Dastardly, selfish, chauvinistic man!"

Darcy was taken aback by the vehemence of her response, and the words falling out of her mouth, words he had never heard from a lady before.

"Miss Bennet, I am sorry that you had to witness that –"

She turned towards him, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed. "You are sorry? Well, I am not! I only wish he had seen that he was noticed, and at least felt some modicum of shame. It seems that that is the only way for men to ever to be ashamed – when their indiscretions are revealed in public."

She quickly collected herself, and looked away. "I apologize for my outburst, sir. Pray, let us continue."

He readily gave her his arm, responding: "And I am terribly sorry for the distress that witnessing my cousin's behavior has caused you, Miss Bennet. It was unpardonable and you have every right to take offense. I will have to speak with my father. These kinds of things are not to be supported on Pemberley land."

"On Pemberley land?" She looked up at him with something akin to hurt and disappointment, and he instantly felt ashamed, despite not knowing what he had done to offend her. "Is _that_ all that concerns you? That there should be no scandal on _your_ estate? You are just like the rest of them, Mr. Darcy."

He did not know how to respond, and in his silence, she regarded him with a soft disapproval, then withdrew her hand from his arm and continued to walk. After a moment, she spoke calmly, but without looking at him.

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. It was very rude of me to speak to you in that manner. I beg that you would forgive my manners; I can offer only my childishness in my defense."

He nodded, but did not know whether she saw. She was still not looking at him. She did not move to reclaim his arm.

They walked on in silence for a few moments, before he attempted to bring them back to their discussion of _Socrates_. His cousin's indiscretion and confusion over why Miss Bennet would paint his own self with the same stroke left him distinctly uncomfortable, and he wished to return to the safer topics. He soon found that Miss Bennet was no longer her engaged and lively self, and their discussion did not hold any of its former vivacity. Despite his discomfort at returning to the unpleasant topic, he felt that there were still things needing to be addressed to put his companion at ease.

"Miss Bennet, I can tell that you are preoccupied. Please, tell me what you are thinking, and if I may so inopportune you, please do tell me what I have done to displease you when I expressed my disapprobation for my cousin displaying his reprobate behavior on my ancestral lands."

"Mr. Darcy, please, it was wrong and improper of me to speak the way I had, and we would do better not to dwell on the subject.

"I insist, Miss Bennet."

She turned towards him for the first time since she let go of his arm, and he was taken aback by the vulnerability of her gaze. It made him want to envelope her in his protective embrace and do everything in his power to ensure her safety and happiness.

"Do you truly wish to hear my thoughts, sir?"

"Please."

She drew in a steadying breath. "Very well. I find it abhorrent the way young men are allowed, nay _encouraged_ to engage in all sorts of debauched behaviors in their youth. We women are secluded and protected and forbidden, taught to preserve our purity as if it is the single greatest worth we possess. We are led to understand that there are all forms of indiscretions that men are permitted to engage in, before and after they become our husbands, that _we_ should just pretend that we do not know about, and _they_ should be discrete enough to allow us to pretend that we do not know. I had never given it much thought before, but now that… now that I am about to come out, and have begun to give fleeting thoughts to marital felicity, I cannot help but disapprove of this hypocrisy. _I_ would not wish for such a husband."

"You do not wish to be married to a man who continued to engage in indiscretions after your wedding?" That, Darcy could well understand. He had always found his uncle's dalliances to be distasteful, and thought that his father, who had been faithful to his mother before and even after her death, was much more deserving of the title _gentleman_.

Elizabeth winced slightly, and moved her head in an uncertain gesture between a nod and a shake. "Yes and no." She appeared ready to say something else, but then thought better of it.

As her silence dragged on, curious, Darcy pressed on. "How do you mean?"

"Truly, it does not matter. Why discuss the idealistic notions of a little girl? I am sure that a year from now, once I have had my first season, I will be much more reasonable." She gave a soft laugh at her expense, but it was not the vibrant sound of before. It was contrived, just like the laughter of the ladies in the ballroom, and he hated it. He thought heatedly how very much he would hate to see her turn _that_ kind of reasonable.

He turned sharply towards her. "Miss Bennet, please speak frankly. Nothing you have said today has been unreasonable, and I have enjoyed our open discussion. Please, pay me the compliment of continuing in your honesty."

She gasped under the intensity of his gaze, and obliged. "Your cousin is not married, yet I find his behavior almost as bad as if he were. Because, you see, for a _woman_ it would not matter whether she were married or not, except perhaps in the case of a widow. She would be judged, condemned, and punished at the slightest indiscretion. I cannot help but feel it hypocritical and unfair that the same standards are not applied to men. I dread my coming out, dread having to conform to the exacting notions of ladylike behavior, controlling what I wear, how I walk, how I speak. I know I will be judged improper for something as minor as discussing unladylike literature. I dread meeting young men who will flirt with me and who would think nothing of compromising me, knowing that their behavior will always be quickly forgiven while the tiniest misstep on my part would be condemned." She sighed and hung her head. "Yes, I would most certainly not wish for a husband who would not be devoted to me after marriage. But it is more than that. I also would much prefer a man who would have never engaged in that kind of reprobate behavior before our marriage either. I would like a husband who would be as proper, as pure, as good as I."

That certainly was an unorthodox notion, one that Darcy had not heard before. He attempted to hide his surprise before responding, lest he offend his charming companion. "That is indeed a singular opinion, if I understand you correctly, Miss Bennet. Are you saying that you would wish your husband to have no intimate experiences before you?"

She gave him such a deep, tender, achingly probing look that he felt his breath catch. Her tone sounded enthrallingly intimate as she delivered her response. "Is that not what my husband would wish from me, Mr. Darcy?"

"I would -" He caught himself, terrified of the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth, uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I would imagine that to be his preference."

"Then why, good sir, should I not be entitled to the same preference?"

He could not in good conscience think of a single reason to give her. "I – I think you are correct, Miss Bennet."

"Truly?"

He nodded gravely, and offered her his arm. She took it again, relaxing, allowing herself to lean on him much more than she had before. They walked for some time in silence. It was companionable, and he did not feel the strain of their lack of discourse, instead allowing himself to digest all that had been said. He wondered at the societal double standard to which she had alluded, and for the life of him, could not account for it. Indeed, if he had a wife such as the enchanting Miss Bennet, he would want to give her all of himself. She was so open, so honest, so well-informed, and so alive. She could be both tender and passionate, she held firm to her principles and yet expressed them so softly and gently, without a hint of aggression or ill will. She was at once self-possessed and frightened. Any man would be lucky to be her husband.

Darcy did not have a chance to dwell on the surge of irritation he felt at the thought of another man claiming Miss Bennet for his wife, before his companion addressed him:

"You have a lovely estate, Mr. Darcy. While I am partial to the countryside in my native Hertfortshire, your woods are delightful, and I have never seen a house so well situated."

They had by that time come into view of Pemberley, and Darcy felt a surge of pride and warmth at her open admiration of his home.

"I am glad that you approve, Miss Bennet."

"I doubt there are many who would not approve, Mr. Darcy."

"Yet I would conjecture that your good opinion is not too easily bestowed, and therefore more worth the earning." He was surprised by how much he meant it.

Elizabeth rewarded him with her brilliant laughter. "Indeed, you are correct. In my family it is my elder sister, Jane, who grants her approval readily. She is a saint, an angel."

"You have an older sister?" He enquired with interest, eager to learn more about his tiny enchantress.

"Yes, Jane is eighteen. I also have three younger sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. I love them all tremendously, but Jane has a special place in my heart. She truly is an angel, and deserves every bit of happiness in the world. I would do anything to see her happy." Darcy was stunned at the fierce determination in Elizabeth's voice. It was obvious that she cared for her sister greatly, and he thought once again what a remarkable woman she was, how lucky any man would be to belong to a woman so loving and protective.

"It is unusual for sisters so close in age to maintain such a close relationship without rivalry," Darcy remarked, attempting to distract himself from the direction his wistful thoughts were taking.

"Perhaps. Especially if the elder sister is far more beautiful, unbelievably amiable, and the perfect lady. But if you knew Jane, you would understand. She is all goodness; it is impossible to feel any negative feeling towards her."

Darcy wanted to say that it was difficult to believe in the existence of this paragon of perfection, and that even if Elizabeth's sister were more beautiful and ladylike, it was unlikely that her eyes shone as brightly or her lithe body was as perfectly supple and graceful. But he checked himself before he voiced these thoughts.

"I have a younger sister, Georgiana, and I believe I might love her as much as you love your Jane. She, too, is a little angel."

Miss Bennet gave him one of her beautiful smiles. "And I would expect she is more beautiful, and most certainly more _ladylike_ than you, Mr. Darcy," She teased him. "So you see, it is perfectly possible to love our superior siblings without a trace of jealousy."

"Touche, Miss Bennet."

"Ah! There are my aunt and uncle." She pointed to a couple stood next to the Darcys' gamekeeper.

He was reluctant to let go of his delightful companion as he returned her to her relatives, and was saddened to hear that they were engaged to travel for the next fortnight. They would then return to the neighboring village of Seriton, only five miles from Lambton, and he vowed to call on them at that time. He was determined to further his acquaintance with the intriguing Miss Bennet.

But that very afternoon, as he went in search of his father to inform him of the Viscount's behavior, Darcy was shocked to find his parent unconscious in his study. The family physician gravely informed him that his father had been suffering from a weak heart for quite some time, but did had not wished to trouble his son with his health. In shocked stupor, Darcy could not help but think that he would have rather been troubled but prepared. All thoughts of the enchanting Miss Bennet fled from his mind as his father passed from this world, leaving him alone with the impressive estate and the equally impressive weight of responsibility that came with it. He never did ride out to Seriton.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, I am thrilled with all the encouragement I have received from the first chapter! Here is the next installment, where things get quite a bit more complicated for our dear young heroine. I hope you enjoy! -Annabel_

* * *

She was a stupid girl, there was no other way to put it. A stupid, naive little idiot of a girl.

Lizzy sighed and forced herself, slowly and reluctantly, to step away from the window. She should have gone to the shops with her aunt and uncle. She should have walked around the lovely little streets of Lambton. She should have regaled her sisters with colorful images in black ink on white paper; they had so wished to know about her latest travels to Seriton. She should have done any multitude of things, yet she had idled away almost a full precious hour staring out of that God-forsaken window. Hoping for him.

It was naive and stupid, and she had no one but herself to reproach. Had she really turned into one of those females who mistook polite manners for interest, and then whiled away their lives waiting to be swept off their feet? So what if he had vowed to call? It was a fortnight ago, and could mean but naught. In polite society, his promise was a meaningless pleasantry, and only a country bumpkin of a child such as herself could mistake it for anything else.

He had been all that was proper and pleasant, and she had so very much enjoyed her time in his company. He had not judged her, not disapproved of her, not ignored her. He had continued in his polite attentiveness even in the face of her own impertinence, and had gone so far as to claim agreement with her unorthodox notions. He was, to put it simply, the finest man she had ever met or could imagine meeting.

But that was that. Lizzy sighed, and forced herself to let go of her childish fantasies. He would live in her memory as the most amiable man of her acquaintance, but that was all. She had nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. The only feeling she would allow towards him was that of gratitude: for showing her what it meant to behave in the most gentlemanlike manner, for teaching her what it was that she was to look for in a man upon that frightening avalanche that was her coming out.

"A letter for you, Miss Lizzy."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly snatched the envelope from the tray. Lizzy reproached herself most heartily as she saw the familiar hand. Had she really hoped for a note from the young heir of neighboring Pemberley over news of her dear Jane? Foolish, headstrong girl!

Jane's missive quickly cleared Lizzy's head of her misplaced romantic notions, and brought her back to the realities of life. Her own inclinations and infatuations meant nothing compared to the happiness of a most beloved sister.

Hastily, Lizzy sat at the desk to pen a response. Once finished, she again lost herself in thought, but of a much graver nature this time. She was running out of time. She was nearly out of time, and she had permitted herself to lose track of her goal for a full fortnight. Never again.

She withdrew a slim piece of paper safely tucked away in a hidden pocket of her dress. Her ticket to salvation. _Jane's_ ticket to salvation. Traced, with the tip of her slim finger, the crest at the top. Henry Glassenger, the Marquess of Salenwater. She hoped with everything in her that her plan would work. She hoped with all her might that the Marquess of Salenwater would be moved by what she had to say, and would react as she anticipated to the threat. That was if she even managed to find him.

Seated across from her aunt and uncle in the carriage a few days later, as they passed by Pemberley and her eyes rebelled against forever letting go of the beautiful sight, Lizzy entertained for half of a second a fantastical notion. Could she perhaps approach Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy instead? Not with a threat, she had nothing on him, but with a genuine and friendly request? He had been so very good, so perfectly amiable; was it so impossible that he may be prevailed upon to help?

No, it was out of the question to reward a gentleman's well-bred manners by imposing on him in this way. The fact that he had been polite and kind towards her did not give her any rights where he was concerned. She spitefully reminded herself that he had not even called.

Finding the Marquess of Salenwater proved less impossible than she had feared. A week of careful observation and masterful applications to a variety of household gossips revealed his favorite club, his riding habits, and his latest mistress's abode. She could not very well risk approaching him in either the first or the last, without setting herself up for a situation not dissimilar to Jane's, and making everything worse. The second was too public a place, but did allow for the passage of a note through the oldest son of her uncle's valet's friend's brother. She was fairly certain that the impropriety would not be traced back to her person.

Two days later, Lizzy felt her heart constrict with joy, and her hands tremble with anxious anticipation when she heard a gentleman enter her uncle's store and introduce himself as Henry Glassenger. She had been volunteering to help the customers choose the fabrics for the past week, in preparation for precisely this occasion. The fact that her uncle was opening a new shop and took two of his clerks with him, leaving Lizzy alone with her aunt and one clerk in the fabric store, was an unexpected but welcome boon.

"Aunt, please do not tear yourself from the accounts. I will be happy to assist the gentleman." And before her aunt had the chance to give voice to the suspicion so eloquently communicated by her half-raised eyebrow, Lizzy hurried to the front room.

"Elizabeth Bennet at your service, sir. Are you looking for something particular this afternoon?" She made a point to stress the first letters of her first and last name, desperately hoping that Henry Glassenger was an intelligent man. She was relieved to see that he was. His brows rose and his eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing to give away the recognition. He had clearly expected _E.B._ to be a man.

Looking around the store room, the gentleman supplied: "I would like a dark burgundy drapery. Perhaps that one over there may be of interest?" He pointed to the furthest corner of the room.

Once they were sufficiently removed from the clerk's hearing, the man gave Elizabeth a long, hard, probing look. "You are not what I expected to see. Whom do you work for?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who has sent you after me, young lady?" If he thought that his harsh tone would intimidate her, he was sorely mistaken. He was the one in cohorts with the French, not her.

"I do not take your meaning, sir. I am my own person, and no one has sent me."

He let out a humorless laugh. "You expect me to believe that a little slip of a girl like yourself has an interest in espionage and politics?"

"You can believe whatever you wish regarding my interests in both espionage and politics, sir. The only relevant interest of mine under the present circumstances is a personal one for your assistance. In return for which, I would be happy to grant my assistance... of silence."

His countenance grew even darker, if possible. "Blackmail?"

She shrugged, attempting with all of her fifteen-year-old might not to show the extent of the fear she felt. She, a child, not yet even a woman out in society, was confronting a man ten years her senior and a Marquess no less. Not only confronting him, but threatening him. Blackmailing him. "You may call it what you wish, sir. I have made no disguises or pretenses."

He paused for several seconds, considering her. "What do you want?"

Lizzy let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. At the very least, he was willing to talk to her. "I need you to ensure that a certain marriage takes place."

"Do I know the parties involved?"

"Not the bride. You may be acquainted with the bridegroom, although I expect it to be unlikely. Mr. Edward Bannler of Crayton Abbey."

"Indeed, I do not know the gentleman. How do you expect me to bring about a marriage between two people so wholly unconnected to me?"

She gave him a lopsided smile, without realizing how eery such a grimace looked on a young girl her age. "Money."

This time, Henry Glassenger's laugh was a real, full-bodied sound. "How old are you, lass?"

Lizzy bristled at the appellation, but replied civilly. "I am not yet sixteen."

"That young? Clever. Very clever for a child your age."

"I have neither the time nor the humor to endure your condescending remarks, sir. I wish to know whether you are interesting in the exchange I propose. Yes or no?"

"You take an eager interest in this hypothetical marriage. Are you to be the bride?"

"I am not. This is to be the marriage of my elder sister."

"Ah. A scandal in the family, then?"

She did not deign that with a response.

"Tell me, why are you the one approaching strange men to settle it? Shouldn't your parents be taking care of this business?"

She glared at him. "Now _that_ is none of your business, sir."

He put up his hands in a mock display of surrender. "Very well, very well, Miss. I shall enquire no further. I am sure that the desire to clear yourself from the repercussions of your sister's poor conduct must be strong indeed."

It was evident from the flash of apprehension in his eyes that he had not expected her next move. Rising to the maximal height her small frame would allow, and bringing her balled fists up to his chest, Lizzy hissed: " _Don't you dare._ Don't you dare say a word against my sister."

They stared at each other for a second, before Lizzy stepped back, pushed her facial features back into a neutral expression, and enquired: "I will ask you one last time. Are you interested in the mutual exchange of services that I propose?"

There was an odd expression on his face. "Oh, I think I am, Miss Bennet. Your sister will be happily settled. And in return, you will assist me in my endeavors."

This was not what she had been waiting for. "Y-your endeavors?"

"You are already privy to my activities, and you are willing to stay silent in return for your sister's happiness. By that point, you will be an accomplice. As my accomplice, I might occasionally ask for your help."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I will give you the letter, and tell no one of what it contains. But that will be all. We will part ways with no further contact between us."

"And wouldn't it be a pity if, say, after a month of marriage, your sister's new husband sought an annulment?"

Lizzy felt her heart constrict with terror. "You would not..."

"Oh, but I would, Miss Bennet. So, you see, if you wish for my _ongoing_ cooperation, I would suggest that you be willing to provide the same."

"You are threatening me," she said dumbly.

"You may call it what you wish, madam. I have made no disguises or pretenses." Lizzy gasped as he so expertly parroted her own words. "If you wish to play this game, child, then you must be willing to follow its rules. You have a lot to learn yet. But you are clever, and determined, and fierce. I would benefit from an accomplice such as yourself."

Lizzy felt uneasy and uncertain. What was she getting herself into? Was she really about to enter the world of political intrigue even before she came out into society?

The following month, stood at her beloved sister's wedding, there was not a doubt in Lizzy's mind that she had done the right thing. She would do much more than betray the Crown for her dearest Jane. She would be willing to take on the world.

She looked at Edward Bannler and frowned. He did not deserve the angel he was getting for his wife. Everything had been his fault, from beginning to end. His fault and the fault of the society they lived in. After everything he had done, he could have walked away, _would_ have walked away had Lizzy not found a means to force his hand, and dear Jane would have been left alone and ruined to deal with the consequences, never able to marry, never able to find a good post, never able to face the people around her without shame.

Why did the world have to be so unfair? Why could the others not see it, not change it? Why did the men have so little consideration for the women, to indulge in debauched behavior or to turn a blind eye to the debauchery of their friends and relations? She recalled her conversation at Pemberley. There had been one man, at least, who seemed ready to listen and to concede the truth of her argument. Did young Mr. Darcy truly agree with her, or did he acquiesce out of politeness? She found herself wondering what he had decided to do about his cousin, the Viscount Bradville.

Viscount Bradville was just as bad, just as rotten as Edward Bannler. As, Lizzy feared, most men were. She was comforted, at least, in her knowledge that Jane's husband would have little leeway to mistreat his wife after their wedding. She might be a child and she might be unfamiliar with the "game" as the Marquess had called it, but she had known enough to negotiate. Ongoing assistance would indeed be _ongoing_. From the respectful, timid manner of the bridegroom, Lizzy was satisfied to deduce that the Marquess must have upheld his end of the bargain thus far, and had made it painfully clear to young Edward that the new Jane Bannler was to be treated with utmost respect.

Two years later, by the time Elizabeth Bennet received her first summons from Henry Glassenger, the Marquess of Salenwater, she had almost forgotten about her bargain with the devil. It was a simple enough assignment. She was to befriend and infiltrate the militia stationed in Bath at the time her family vacationed there to aid with her mother's poor nerves, and obtain a stack of strategy documents kept by the regiment's colonel.

She played her part of a determined flirt chasing after redcoats admirably well, and was soon a favorite among the men of the regimen. It was a boon, to be sure, but also carried a price, when at the ball hosted by Colonel Armstrong, she was obliged to dance every dance and could not find the time needed to slip into the host's study and search for the documents.

At last, sending one partner in search of a drink, and telling another that she was going to get some air, she managed to orchestrate sufficient confusion to slip out of the ballroom seemingly unnoticed.

She had been at Colonel Armstrong's dwelling several times by now, as a particular friend not only to his men, but to his young wife, a flirt as silly and mindless as Lizzy was attempting to portray. She knew where the Master's study was, and quickly made her way towards it.

As she was rummaging through the drawers in search of the desired papers, Lizzy was startled when the door opened and she was no longer alone in the room.

"What do you think you are doing, Miss Bennet?"

It was Major Richard Blackwell, an officer in the Colonel Armstrong's regimen. Lizzy's heart skipped a beat and her face flushed every time she beheld the tall, golden-haired gentleman. He was handsome in his own right, but the resemblance his facial features held to her mind's idealized recollection of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy certainly added to the man's charm. Once, when Lizzy had ventured as far as to enquire whether there was any familial relation between the two gentleman, Colonel Blackwell frowned at her and replied curtly that there was not.

"I - I was just... I was hoping I might find the itinerary of the regimen's travels over the next week," Lizzy half-lied. "I do so hate the thought of parting with you handsome gentlemen!"

She could tell that her interrogator was not buying the excuse. "Clever. A clever answer very much consistent with your behavior. But they are both utterly false, are they not? You were not searching for our plans to follow the regimen, and you are not the thoughtless flirt you pretend to be, are you, Miss Bennet?"

"I do not have the pleasure of comprehending your meaning, sir."

"Do not play me for a fool, Miss Bennet. I have been observing you most carefully over the past two months. You are everything modest and sensible _when you think the militiamen are not looking_. So tell me, what is the purpose of this disguise? And what _are_ you looking for in the Colonel's desk?"

He was so very close to her now, his warm breath caressing her cheek, his jaw clenched into a dangerously mocking line, his eyes cold and probing. Even if she did not tell him anything, he was onto her. He would alert the Colonel, and the documents - any important documents that might currently be stored in that mahogany desk - would be moved. She could not risk this. She could not displease the Marquess and risk Jane.

Lizzy bit her lower lip, praying for strength to go through with what she was about to do, and that it might work. She had an inkling, some bout of purely feminine intuition, that the Major was not immune to her charms. Why else would he have observed her as carefully as he had?

Lifting herself onto tiptoes and raising her hand to touch that strong clenched jaw, Lizzy steeled herself and leaned in. She had never been kissed before, had never allowed anyone even a semblance of a liberty after what had happened to Jane. She did not know _how_ to kiss, but she soon learned, once her opponent, after a motionless second, began to return her embrace, that she did not _need_ to know how to kiss. It was intuitive and natural, and felt everything that was good and sweet. She had almost forgotten about her purpose by the time they withdrew, panting, both gasping for air, disheveled and confused.

Confusion was a luxury that Lizzy could not afford. The dazed look in the Major's eyes was her only hope. She needed to invent a feasible story, and fast, and then she needed to distract him with their budding romance long enough to get a hold of those papers.

"You are right," she spoke softly when she saw that her companion was beginning to recover from their physical contact. "I am not the mindless flirt that I have been trying to be. But after having comported myself as a lady with utmost decorum for two years, I have had enough, by Jove! I see the other girls flirt and have fun, and I see that the men _prefer_ that - no one cares for my proper ways. Society says that women should be good and pure, but in truth, those are not the women admired by men. So I decided to make a fresh start. Coming to Bath provided such a wonderful opportunity. No one knows me here, no one has heard of my reputation as an upstanding prude... I could be anything I want! For the first time in my life I can be liked, admired, _desired_. Little did I know, however, that the one man whom I would want would be precisely the man to resist all my flirtations, to see straight through me, to be completely immune to my charms. Forgive me, you must forgive me, for being foolish, desperate, and in love. I _did_ want to know where the regiment was to be stationed next, but I also hoped to learn more about _him_ and -"

She had continued her improvised rambling until he shook his head and took her into his large, strong arms. "Shh, shh Lizzy. You are wrong, my sweet one. He is not immune, far from it. He likes you, admires you, forgive my bluntness, desires you. The real you, the you that he has seen in those unguarded moments, not the mindless flirt that you think is more palatable to us men."

It had worked. She had intuited correctly, and Major Blackwell was sufficiently attracted to her to accept her explanation and to assure her of his regard and of his honorable intentions. When she asked him to please leave her alone in the study for a half hour to collect herself and right her appearance - she had, by that point, a few eloquent trails of salty tears on her blushing cheeks, - Major Blackwell readily complied. Within a quarter hour, the requisite documents were tucked safely inside her bodice.

After three days of blissful courtship, as the regiment was scheduled to depart, Major Blackwell proposed and Lizzy, not knowing what else to do without giving away her disguise, accepted. He promised to write once he was home after the regiment's next campaign.

The campaign was a disaster, as were many others within the next few months. Lizzy felt a twinge of guilt, as she imagined Major Blackwell's, _Richard's,_ handsome face clouded with disappointment, or worse - pain. Was he among the casualties of war? Among the casualties of her betrayal? Jane wrote that she and Edward were expecting a child, but for the first time, Lizzy wondered whether her sister's happiness was worth the sacrifice that had been made for it.

There was an investigation into vital documents containing country secrets stolen from Colonel Armstrong. The colonel himself went in front of a military tribunal. Somehow, despite the rather thorough investigation that questioned almost all of the Colonel's acquaintances and the attendees of the ill-fated Ball, Lizzy was never approached. She thought she knew why she had been spared. The Major never came back to her, their engagement tacitly voided, but he did write as promised upon arriving home.

 _'In retrospect, you had every reason to take me for a fool, for a fool I have proven to be. I can at least thank you for a valuable lesson in tactics. I wish you the best in your endeavors, however incompatible they may be with my own._

 _I beg you only to keep yourself safe._

 _R'_

Too late, Lizzy realized that she had fallen in love with the dashing Major. Too late, she decided that even though she would never see him again and would forever lose that first love, she would not lose the lesson he had taught her: to fight for what was right. Too late she announced to the Marquess that she would no longer aid him in his betrayals.

Henry Glassenger smiled, stroked her cheek as if she were a silly little child, and showed her Colonel Armstrong's confidential documents, neatly folded and tied, with a note on top, in her handwriting, so dangerously self-incriminating. For her benefit, he described in great detail all the consequences of the revelation of this little stack, not for her - no, she was beyond caring for her own well-being and quite frankly loathed herself for what she had allowed herself to become - but to the entirely of her extended family and friends. It was no longer only Jane's welfare that was at stake. It was everyone she cared for, and on a much grander scale. Would anyone believe that a seventeen-year-old country girl was engaged in this level of intrigue without her father's knowledge and approval? Would anyone spare her uncle after the Marquess had made sure to use some of Mr. Gardiner's shipments for his nefarious purposes over the past two years? No, he didn't think so.

Defeated, Lizzy hung her head and acquiesced. The Marquess's words from two years past rung so true: she had entered a game without learning the rules, and now she had no means to exit. How she wished that Richard had seen through her that night in the dimly lit study after their only passionate kiss! He may have been a fool, but she felt that she was so very much worse.


	3. Question to the Readers

_Dear readers,_

 _I was never fond of FF authors posting correspondence to the readers ("Author's Notes") instead of chapters, and sincerely apologize for doing precisely that now. But I feel that it is really necessary for this story._

 _From the feedback I have received thus far, it seems that I have made a major mistake with this story. My intention in Chapter 2 was to set up a conflict for Elizabeth that effectively puts her in the Marquess's (our villain's) power. I envisioned her as young, naive, and overconfident, deciding to take matters into her own inexperienced hands without realizing what she was getting herself into. I suppose I was imagining that she did not know - or think to find out - what was in the documents she stole from the Colonel, and never actually learned whether any of the subsequent military defeats were tied to that. I can see how that did not quite come across in my writing._

 _From the long and thoughtful comments that some of you posted, I can see that it was not the most well thought-out and executed plot device, and can understand how some readers find the situation to go against our conceptions of Elizabeth Bennet's character. As such, I have decided to re-craft this part of the story._

 _I understand that, in general, it is best if authors stick to their storylines and do not allow themselves to be overly swayed by reviews. I agree and hope to not need to do so in future. However, this is my first story, and I would very much hope that reading it brings some amount of pleasure to people other than myself. It is a learning experience for me, and I hope that at least this once, my willingness to change a story based on reviewers' comments is taken in the spirit it is intended: as an attempt to improve my writing rather than cowing to criticism._

 _So, for those who are sufficiently invested with the story to care one way or another, I would like your opinion on how to best handle the situation. The options I have in mind are:_

 _1\. Replace the espionage plotline with a more benign politics plotline: the Marquess would be involved with internal conflict of the royal family (there is enough drama with King George III's mental illness to have some intra-family strife). Elizabeth would become involved in his schemes in the same way as currently, but in a conflict that has no clear "right" and "wrong"; the only moral quibbles would come from being forced to act against her will and the views and incentives of those she is close to (Major Blackwell)._

 _2\. Remove the politics plotline altogether. The Marquess would still be around as the villain, but of a slightly different kind (no blackmail), and would not be revealed as such quite as quickly._

 _Other ideas, comments, suggestions, critiques, and opinions are welcome. I will try to make up my mind and rewrite the previous chapter shortly. I will remove this non-chapter at that time, and will try my best to avoid posting author's notes without story content in future._

 _Thank you, everyone, for your thoughtful feedback!_

 _\- Annabel_


End file.
